Nameless Recorders
by Bamboofoxfire Productions
Summary: In the Rewinding Town, Allen and Lenalee are defeated, and on a whim, Allen is left alive and captured to be Road's new favorite plaything. Caged and battered, he wakes up to a redhead who is neither Akuma nor Noah, and a startling amount of apathy towards him and humankind. Allen's going to have to escape, and it becomes increasingly clear he'll have to do it on his own.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Basically this is a plot of "what if Lavi and Bookmen ended up on the side of the Noahs instead of the Order". So here ya go~

I did the parts for basically everyone who wasn't Allen.

* * *

 **Nameless Recorders  
A D Gray-Man Fanfiction  
Original RP with bacon-of-hope(tumblr)  
**

* * *

A female scream was followed by malicious cackling as the pair of Noah watched the Exorcist fall to the ground, blood seeping profusely from many deep stab wounds and showing other signs of injury and bruising.

To say that the Noah of Dreams was happy would be an understatement. She was having _far_ too much fun.

And this was even without using the poor girl's memories or illusions against her. She made it way too easy with her determination to leap into danger to protect her white-haired comrade, who was barely hanging on to threads of consciousness himself.

Even together, they weren't any match for her. That wasn't even with counting Tyki, who had tagged along reluctantly. It was no wonder the pathetic sub-humans, Exorcist or not, failed to match up and lost the fight.

"You gave it a valiant effort, but you lost the game now~" Road chimed in a sing-songy voice, sauntering over to stand only a couple feet from the bleeding female Exorcist. She could see the hatred for her burning in those violet eyes, hating her for hurting the girl's comrade. It kind of annoyed her that this girl might be seeking after her Allen too.

It was that unhappy spark which caused an even darker thought to twist it's way through Road's mind on a whim, even as she turned and walked over to where her favorite obsession, Allen Walker, lay.

She could hear the strained sounds of pain and frustration as the girl tried to push herself up, to continue fighting, only to collapse again.

"Tyki~"

"Hm?" The larger Noah turned his head towards her in question, his demeanor a mix of mild annoyance and boredom as he puffed at a newly lit cigarette.

"Can we take Allen home with us?" She put on her best whine, glancing over at the limp teen. "Lord Millennium said we just had to make sure he was out of the way of our plans, not kill him."

The older-looking Noah looked further annoyed by that as he shifted the cigarette to one corner of his lips. "Our only assurances would be to kill them both and be done with it-"

Road stomped her foot petulantly, much like a child throwing a tantrum. "But I don't want to kill him! He's _mine_ , I want him!"

The Noah of Pleasure sighed a cloud of smoke and replied reluctantly, "Fine, if you really like him that much, but it's on your head when Lord Millennium gets angry."

The girl cheered slightly and hugged her 'Uncle' around the waist, then hopped over to Allen. Tyki followed at a more leisurely pace to grab the boy by the back of his clothing and toss the kid over his shoulder, Road summoning her door.  
Tyki stepped through first, Road pausing to wave a taunting fairwell to the other Exorcist who was probably just going to bleed out anyway.

"Bye Lenalee! It's been fun, but Allen's coming with us now," she chimed before sauntering through her door, which disappeared moments later.

Tears sprung to the Exorcist's eyes even as she reached out in vain to beg them to stop but they were gone long before she could do anything, unconsciousness from blood loss soon crushing down on her.

"…A…llen…"

* * *

They had been annihilated. The term 'defeated' didn't quite cut it, not when they had barely even been capable of putting up a fight against the little girl and her uncle, or whoever he was. Allen's surroundings kept blurring in and out of focus, pain and exhaustion robbing him of all but the most basic, dulled senses; the scent of rubble and burnt candles, Lenalee's screams, his own ragged breathing, the indescribable _agony_ that had sunken its claws into what was left of his left eye… and that honeyed, child-like voice that sent chills down his spine with the malice it dripped.

Trying to understand the words that were spoken was beyond his capabilities in that moment, gloved fingers scratching across hard stone as he tried in a last-ditch effort to get up once more – what for, it was hard to tell. There was no way he could fight in his state, and his efforts died out in vain, muscles going lax as black devoured his vision and his consciousness, blanketing him in nothingness.

* * *

Even as Road droned on, only further adding to Tyki's annoyance, a whistle of impressment interrupted her gushy ramblings from a figure that was hunched over the railing of the second story foyer, watching the return party of three, one of which was vaguelly familiar in organization yet stranger in face.

"Looks like you went out for a wild party I wasn't invited to," he commented dryly, in a non-challant manner that was devoid of any defineable emotion.

Pushing himself up to stand fully, he regarded them through one green eye, the other covered by an eye-patch and a key hanging from a cord around his neck. Whether there was an actual reason for the eye-patch, something wrong with the eye or not, none could ascertain at first glance.

"So, inquiring minds want to know." He left it at that, knowing already that Road was enough of a mind-reader he wouldn't have to waste words.

"We captured an Exorcist!" Road piped up a little too-happily for his liking.

"I can see that," the redhead stated, wondering if she was trying to toy with him by stating the obvious. After all, she had to already know that he was aware of that much, didn't she? "But I'm still left to wonder why that is."

 _Instead of eliminating them,_ he added silently.

"I want to keep him!" She threw out there, making him shake his head slightly in exasperation, not needing any further explanation.

"You and your doll fetish." He moved to leave but her voice stopped him.

"Hold it, Junior! I have something for you to do," she commanded, hopping up the stairs with a reluctant Tyki stepping up after her and down the hall. The redhead fell into step, following her to a ethereal doorway leading into what appeared a town of perfect-white buildings and dark shingle roofing, sitting in a void of clear blue sky.

"And what would that be?"

"I want you to treat his wounds for me, and make sure he stays alive so I can play with him more, of course~"

"Of course," the redhead deadpanned as they came to a huge library, it's impressive size more than what the most book-enthralled historian could ever dream of. "And keep an eye on him for me as well while I'm not here!"

He nodded even as he watched Tyki dump the kid onto the single large couch centered in the room, getting a good look at the kid for the first time.

Mid-teens…hardly old enough to be fighting a war, but then again, this wasn't news to him that the other side had such young soldiers. He had long ago accepted that the depths of human deprevity knew no bounds, and the Black Order was no exception. Snow white hair, plastered to his face by sweat and blood, and an unusual red scar that travelled down the left side of the boy's face, forming a pentacle just over the crest of his left brow. The redhead was curious as to the story behind that one most of all.

"You really did a number on this one…this might be more Gramp's level than mine, I'm not as well-versed in medical attention as he is," he deadpanned for good measure, before lacing his fingers together and stretching them above his head, ridding the stiffness from his shoulders. "But I'll see what I can do. Not going to promise you anything though, you're the one who beat him all to Hell, not me."

"Just make sure he survives, Junior Bookman," Road told him shortly, petulance entering her voice.

"Ya, ya, I heard you the first time Your Holy-ness." He offered a mock bow as the three briefly left, the redhead returning in short order alone now with a basin of water, wash rag, and a few other medical supplies.

His single-eyed gaze briefly surveyed the other boy again as he wet the rag and wrung it out, bringing it to the younger's face to wipe away the blood and dirt to find where the actual wounds were.

"Man, she sure did a number on you," he thought aloud idly, not knowing if the kid was even awake enough to hear him but not really caring either way.

* * *

For quite some time, he flickered in and out of consciousness, glimpses of his surroundings unhelpful and barely enough to discern anything more than that he was slung over somebody's shoulder and _everything hurt_. Each time he regained focus for a few sad seconds, that malicious voice droned on, intensifying the headache blooming in his skull and leaving him slipping into darkness again with a quiet noise of pain dying on his lips.

The next time he came to, it was to his body being dumped unceremoniously onto a soft-yet-solid surface, a soft groan the full extent of what he was capable of regarding verbal responses in that moment. It was a strain to force silvery-gray hues – scratch that, _one_ silvery-gray hue, the other remaining screwed shut with a sudden noise of surprised, red-hot pain – to open to unfamiliar surroundings, but he managed to squint against the lighting, only to scrunch up his face when something wet came into contact with the bloodied and bruised skin. A towel, he realized belatedly through the foggy haze that was his consciousness, and he frowned in an attempt to comprehend the words spoken to him by an unfamiliar redhead.

Why was this person taking care of him? Who were they? And _where the hell **was** he_? It didn't take a genius to know he'd been taken, but the where to and moreso the _why_ were big holes in his mind's reasoning.

"…are you…" It took him more than one try to voice a question, his voice raw and raspy from strain and disuse. "… one of them, too?" _A Noah? Or… an akuma?_

* * *

So the kid was awake after all that, although it may have only been in the vaguest sense of the word. Halting breaths and pained, half-delirious groans assured that might not last, though if it did, he supposed he could rightly say the kid had one Hell of a will. That or the pain was simply too intense for rest, which was always another possibility.

Ending up with a corpse was looking likely, which would end up being beyond annoying. He supposed it didn't matter whatever the outcome. Either way he was still given a burden to deal with he hadn't really signed up for.

He considered the question, weighing an appropriate answer in his mind for a few moments as he washed and rung out the cloth to continue tending the boy's wounds.

"Not quite," he answered at last. "You could say we simply stand to gain from a mutual partnership. Anyway, that's probably the smallest of your worries by now anyway, at least until you've rested and healed up a bit, and you probably shouldn't try to speak much right now either. Save your energy and all that."

He wasn't sure if the exorcist would listen to him at all, but he offered this advice nonetheless. Plus, being a prisoner of war – especially when that jailer was the Noah – was really anything _but_ a small thing to worry about. For the time being, however, his wounds were the most immediately pressing concern.

* * *

While he was aware that his wounds were being tended to, it did nothing to stop pained hisses and groans from spilling from his lips, nor did it suppress the reflexes to flinch away from anything that intensified the agony burning in every inch of his body. Somewhere he found the capability to feel guilty for being a hard person to treat in that moment, but voicing an apology seemed like too much of an effort to brave. As it was, Allen struggled more than enough only to focus on what the redhead was saying, to understand his words through the debilitating pain shrouding his mind in a near impenetrable haze.

He didn't need the advice to know that talking cost far too much energy, but there was no way he could just lie down obediently and silently let things happen to him, not without answers of some kind. Whether or not he could grasp them at the current time was not something he put much thought into – it would just be more energy wasted on a question with no clear answer available. More importantly, it baffled him that he was being _patched up_ instead of disposed of, that his wounds were being _treated_ instead of made worse. Even letting nature run its course would most likely end his life due to blood loss sooner or later, but instead they had asked this person to tend to his wounds.

"Wh–y…?"

Of course, that question could mean many things – and in that lay its advantages. With just one word he had asked a number of unvoiced questions – _why am I here? why are you helping me? why are you working with them? why don't they let me die?_ – and it was on the other to answer hopefully at least some of them. Hopefully he would do so before consciousness slipped out of his grasp once more.

* * *

Lavi glanced at him, his single eye silently probing for some elaboration or cue on the exact question the boy was trying to ask him. One that he wasn't sure he would get a verbal answer to, and most likely for lack of strength on the other's part than anything, given the white-haired kid's physical state.

He was silent for a while as he removed the kid's coat fully so he could properly check and treat any other hiding wounds, sorting his thoughts and how much was strictly necessary to say and how much he could omit or that wasn't worth the breath. Maybe he was simply hoping that the kid would pass out again if he stalled long enough, but on the other hand, he didn't really have much reason not to simply tell the lad what he most likely wanted to know.

Besides, liability was of little concern where they were now. The kid would have to be able to escape first with whatever information he had to cause any real problems for the Noah, and aboard the Ark, such escape was impossible for any but the Noah themselves. A perfect cage if there ever was one.

"If I had to guess, Road probably just wants to toy with you some more for her own personal satisfaction," he deadpanned. "She's rather fond of those games of hers. She told me to tend to you, so I am. We're simply here because it was convenient." He shrugged, unsympathetic and bored sounding. Perhaps even a touch annoyed. "Its about as simple as that."

* * *

Allen thought he would pass out before the redhead graced him with an answer, but he didn't have it in him to ask him to hurry. In all likelihood, the only thing that was keeping him conscious was the excruciating _pain_ flaring up when his helper attempted to take off his coat, throbbing in a terrible cacophony with the agony burning where his left eye was, or used to be, anyway.

Concentration or focus were hard to come by, flashes of anguish ripping through his conscience and scattering his thoughts before he could finish them. When the redhead eventually spoke, Allen struggled to understand him. He could accept, albeit neither comprehend nor condone, that Road was someone who liked to toy with people, so being treated like a doll did not surprise him as much as he felt it should have. He lacked the capability to think clearly enough to understand the rest of the other's statement, uncertain who this 'we' entailed or why this person seemed to lack compassion.

"Simple…" he repeated weakly, his voice cracking right in the middle of the disbelieving word. Speaking up once more cost him just about all of his remaining strength, and he was fully expecting passing out in the next few seconds, but he felt the need to say one last thing before darkness pulled him back under. "Sti–ll … than…k … yo… u …"

* * *

Lavi paused what he was doing momentarily, brows quirking upwards in faint wonder.

 _Thank you?_

For what, exactly? Truthfully he was helping no one by doing this. No one other than Road and her sadistic tendencies. To even call it _helping_ would probably be more an insult to the concept.

As far as he saw it, all he was doing was delaying the inevitable. He'd patch the kid Exorcist's wounds, and then the Noah would come back, play with him like cats with a mouse, until he either broke or died. And death would most certainly follow anyway if his mind crumbled first.

Maybe the boy simply didn't comprehend that at the moment. Maybe he thought surviving the moment gave him a chance at fighting back later. Maybe he was glad to see a face not out to torture and murder him before slipping into oblivion.

Or maybe Lavi was simply giving it too much thought. None of his speculations would save the poor kid, who was probably already far in over his head just being a part of this war – another unwilling victim of the conflict between the Earl and Innocence – no matter how things played out.

It wasn't a fate he'd wish on anyone, but it wasn't his business to do anything about it, except keep his head down and observe events as they happened.

"You won't be so eager to thank me before long…" Words he might as well have withheld, since it appeared the boy had already lost consciousness anyway.

He continued to patch up the wounds as best as he could manage, even though it was going to be a moot point in the end. If nothing else, it was the repetition of practice doing it that mattered, or so his mentor was always telling him.

After he'd treated and wrapped the injuries, he was realizing that there hadn't been much in the way of forethought for a change of clothes. The ones the boy already had were tattered and bloody. He could always leave the matter be – what use were clean clothes and comfort to the fallen and dying? – but he was a stickler for efficiency in his work, and the smell of battle that clung to the articles was already enough to bother him.

With a resigned sigh, he went off to dig through his wardrobe for something that he wouldn't care if it ended up destroyed when the Noah came back for their 'new plaything'. He didn't really have anything that was the right size, but slightly-too-big was better than slightly-too-small. After he'd changed the boy into clean garments, he settled down with some pillows on the floor with a book.

Nothing much to do at that point except go back to his studies, trying to ignore the unsteady breathing and occasional pitiful noises that escaped the injured figure nearby.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nameless Recorders  
A D Gray-Man Fanfiction  
Original RP with bacon-of-hope(tumblr)  
**

* * *

When Allen awoke, it was to dulled pain and the scent of antiseptic mingling with the fragrance of old books all around him. The soft scratching of a quill against parchment accompanied his return to wakefulness, a steady sound to focus on as his senses returned slowly. There was still a dull throbbing in his left eye, but he found it to be covered with a dressing pad of sorts, while the other felt gritty from sleep and exhaustion, stinging when he forced it to open.

A groan escaped him as he tried to shift, but he forced himself to sit up in spite of his discomfort. He felt much better than before he had passed out – who knew how long he had been out in the first place – but he had a long way to go before he was back on his feet still. Granted, if he could help it, he would be up and about way faster than any sane person would recommend.

Still, being a parasitic type aided his healing process, so rest and a healthy amount of food (to _his_ standards) did literal wonders to his condition.

Speaking – or rather thinking – of food: Unsurprisingly, his stomach chose that time to loudly complain about being neglected. With a healthy flush on pale cheeks, Allen attempted to turn in order to check for anyone else present, only to find (after a slight wince due to moving too rashly) the redhead from before settled against the couch with a book in his hands. Of course, by now he had caught the other's attention, and he found himself beneath the scrutiny of a single, sharp green eye.

Somehow, Allen found the will to smile kindly, a hint of embarrassment lining the curve of his lips. "Ah … hello."

* * *

It was hard to say for sure the passage of time, even being awake. The Ark didn't really experience a 'night time', so the only indicator was an old clock that wasn't always entirely accurate anyway since there wasn't always someone nearby to wind it.

It had been a couple of days. Lavi knew that for certain, but he wasn't exact on the time. Being busy with his studies meant he lost track much too often anyway to always keep track.

For the most part, the kid was little more than background noise, only drawing his attention when he needed to change bandages or louder sleep-hazed sounds suggested he might be regaining consciousness. Otherwise it was quiet and peaceful, allowing him to focus on his reading and writing.

That was, until, the sound of a loudly growling stomach sounded in the room, and not much later the wounded youth sat himself up. He would have first told the boy that the action was unwise in his condition, but the other beat him to speaking first.

"Hey," he greeted in return, offering his own lopsided smile, since that seemed the most appropriate gesture in reply to the boy's own.

 _Friendly and approachable._

A mantra he repeated to himself often, reminding him to mind himself around people even when he wanted nothing to do with them. Or when he didn't have a need to be that way, but practice perfected the mask.

"You're up! How do you feel?"

* * *

It was odd, somehow, to be on the receiving end of a smile like that. Friendly and open, it should have put him at ease – and perhaps it would have, if he didn't recall the way the redhead's demeanor had differed so greatly from this current display the last time he'd been conscious – but one proper look found that it didn't reach his eye. So, frankly put – Allen didn't buy it.

A fake smile could have many many reasons; Allen knew that from experience, knew how to spot one for they did say 'it takes one to know one'. For now, it only told him that there was something to be wary of, reason to be guarded – the other's dishonesty could potentially give him trouble if he neglected to take it into account.

Allen wielded faked smiles like honed weapons, his face easily so young, honest and expressive that it could make most people believe in his sincerity without him even trying. In this case, it aided him that he had all the reason to give a smile to the redhead – he was finally awake and someone was (sincerely nor not) inquiring after his well-being. So the other was rewarded with an amiable smile that was honest but for the distrust it was concealing, a light tilt of his head and an answer given in a voice slightly raspy from disuse.

"Hungry," he offered with amusement lacing the word, before adding in a slightly more serious tone, "But better, I think. Thank you."

* * *

"Yeah, I think your stomach was one step ahead of you on voicing that one," Lavi chuckled, smacking his book shut and finding his feet. He took a moment to stretch some of the stiffness from his back languidly, letting out a content sigh as he felt his muscles loosen up a bit.

"Anyway, I'd suggest not moving around too much. Those wounds you sustained were pretty bad, and I don't want to have to re-patch them." It would be annoying after all the work he'd put in to see it done right the first time. "So, you got a preference on what you like to eat?" He didn't doubt the kid did, and really he didn't _have_ to ask, but he figured it was the more polite thing to do.

That and he didn't want things to be more trouble than they already were. Going off superficial observation, the kid didn't seem to be very hostile or difficult by nature, but complacency could easily be lost if the teen turned unhappy with his accommodations.

And he had _not_ signed up for tantrums. Really he hadn't signed up for any of this, but it could get worse than it was at the moment.

Plus, the kid would most likely have a very limited window to enjoy anything once Road returned for her new 'toy'. Sort of like a last request kind of deal, though he didn't voice as much.

"Can't promise I can fill every request but I'm sure I can scrounge up _something_ that's to your tastes."

* * *

Allen watched the other get up and stretch, quietly somewhat jealous of the other's mobility. If he himself dared to even _try_ and stretch right now, well – it would not be pretty. Not at all. He didn't need the warning given by the redhead, but he held his tongue in that regard, having no intention to antagonize the other. It seemed he had enough enemies around here already, after all.

Argent hues blinked at the question after his preference before smiling at the other, pleasantly surprised by his thoughtfulness. "I really don't want to cause anyone more trouble than it's worth … but if it's possible, I'd love to have some Mitarashi Dango …? I'll eat anything though … ah, but I should warn you – I have an unusually large appetite." It seemed at least his voice was beginning to work with him properly again at least, albeit still a little wobbly-sounding in places because of how dry his throat felt. He was parched. "… say, would you have a glass of water for me, by any chance …?"

* * *

Lavi didn't waste time in retrieving a pitcher and glass, pouring some water for Allen and handing it to him. "Here you are."

He made sure to put the pitcher in easy reach as well so Allen could help himself. He didn't want to have his own time wasted with having to keep going back and forth over something so simple, even if time was something he had a lot of and not many ways to fill it. Other than studying, anyway.

"Hm… mitarashi dango? I'm not sure that's one I can get, but there's no harm in looking into it."

And how large an appetite was 'unusually large', anyway? The kid looked thin as a rail, though still with some muscle to him. Certainly, he knew some people just stayed thin no matter what or how much they ate, but the human stomach was still only _so_ large.

At least it sounded like he wasn't at all picky about food.

"Anyway, I'll get on that. You've been out for what must've been at least a few days."

That in mind, he exited the library. It was a good walk from there to where he needed to go, but it would do him some good to stretch his legs anyway after sitting around so long. There was a long hall and a staircase before the street, and he was mentally mapping his way to the right door that would take him back to the Noah's manor, letting himself out with the key hanging from a cord around his neck.

The manor itself was a much shorter walk by comparison, and he found the kitchen quickly, which had a few maid-dressed Akuma milling about in humanish forms with grey skin and pentacle holes in their forehead. Even being that he was considered `on` their side and the Akuma had orders not to view himself or his old mentor as targets to kill, the demon weapons still somewhat unnerved him.

He briefly informed them of a need for food to be made, for himself and the other youth. It took them perhaps a half hour before he turned and led the way back to the Ark door with the Akuma in-tow carrying the plates of hot food. Even if they unnerved him, at least they were good for something other than killing.

It was probably about an hour before he and the accompanying Akuma managed to reach the library again, with Lavi at the lead. He didn't much consider, nor care a great deal, how the boy put under his care would feel about their presence, so long as he didn't cause a problem. He didn't think the kid would be physically up to causing a problem anyway.

"Food's here~" he announced, flopping down on a pillow on the floor with his own dish, while the two trailing Akuma maids presented one plate each to the white-haired boy.

* * *

Allen gratefully accepted the glass, taking a sip and sighing happily. "Thank you," he murmured, noting in silence how the redhead placed the pitcher in easy reach – a considerate thing to do, especially since Allen didn't very much like asking others for help. He hated being a burden.

When Lavi made to leave, Allen uttered another thank you and watched his retreating back until it disappeared around a corner. "… A few days …" The words hung in the air around him for a few moments before disappearing unheard, drifting away with a sigh. The others had to be w–

Eyes widening, Allen nearly dropped the glass in his hand, sitting up straight and yelping in pain for the rushed movement. _The others._ **Lenalee.**

A wave of guilt crashed over him at the realization that it had been _days_ and he hadn't spared a thought for her – logic's argument that he had been out of it, quite literally, fell on deaf ears as he worked himself up into a state of heavy-weighing distress. He should have – _what_? What could he have done? Obviously, she hadn't been taken – he knew that much. And truly, he was grateful for that – he'd rather he was the one in trouble than her – but what he didn't know was _why_. Did Road just not care about her, or …?

 _No, Allen, don't think like that. You don't know what happened._ And asking Lavi would have done nothing – he needed to make _Road_ tell him when he saw her again. And more importantly, he needed to _get out of here_.

As it were, his chances for that seemed to be rather slim – he needed to recover his strength first and look out for opportunities. So, more determined than ever, Allen devoted himself to taking careful, measured sips of water to hydrate himself again. One step at a time.

By the time Lavi returned, the pitcher had been emptied for the most part. Allen was sat there holding a currently empty glass when he walked in, which was a _good_ thing, because at the sight before him, it slipped past his fingertips and landed in his lap.

Suddenly, he didn't feel hungry anymore.

It was a good thing his eye was currently damaged, or he likely would have felt sick; however, he didn't need to see the tormented souls to know that they were _there_. Accepting the plates took him a moment longer than it should have – a moment filled with a long, deeply saddened look at the two akuma before him. _At least these are only forced to serve and not to kill for now._

Still, even with the plates now before him, a rather doubtful gaze rested on the food – it looked and smelled fantastic, and even though his appetite had left him, his body demanded the nutrition – and way more than what was offered to him at the current moment, actually. But was it _safe_ …?

* * *

Lavi didn't hesitate at all, but he had at one point. Before this particular record, he barely knew what Akuma were. He had seen them, certainly, while traveling the world, but they were quite elusive in public spaces and Bookman had always been careful.

It helped that Lavi trusted basically no one except for his mentor, after the kinds of things - of _war_ and _murder_ and _genocide,_ always _**death**_ and _ruin,_ ever growing _suffering_ and _grief_ \- that he had been witness to.

It was easy to be paranoid when the difference between human monsters and monsters in human skin was hairline thin, and as far as he could tell, humans were the worst of the two because humans actually had a **_choice_**. Akuma had no more choice to kill than a train had to follow the railroad it was situated on.

When he had first arrived with Bookman, he had been understandably wary of the demons, but he had learned to grow complacent with their presence and that their food was perfectly safe to eat. Whether or not it _tasted_ good though was another matter of hit-and-miss, though thankfully nothing had been bad enough to ruin his appetite yet. He was always holding that last _yet_ somewhere in the back of his mind.

He caught the boy hesitating out of the corner of his eye, and figured the kid probably had as much reservations about the food as he had once had. Especially being that he was one of the few people in the world who knew exactly what Akuma were.

"Its not poisoned or anything if that's what you're worried about. These guys only do as they're told and I got no reason to do that to you."

Even if he _had_ a reason, he didn't fancy the idea of Road turning him into her replacement toy, which she would very much do. A lesson he had learned the hard way was to avoid getting roped into the girl Noah's "games" at all costs.

"Besides, dealing with corpses is a bigger hassle than dealing with the wounded, not to mention more disgusting. Not exactly what I'd consider dinner entertainment." Maybe not the most gentle way to put it or entirely reassuring - or appetizing - but he figured it probably got the point across fine enough. "Name's Lavi, by the way, or you can just call me Junior. Whatever works for you."

* * *

Lavi had a point of course – and it made little sense for them to poison him if Road had chosen to kidnap him instead of finishing him off in the Rewinding Town. Besides, as a parasitic accommodator, he could neutralize akuma poison, so he _should_ be fine even if the food was not okay. His stomach grumbled again, clearly demanding a decision of him, and with a quiet sigh, he resigned himself to digging in. He needed the strength, after all.

The first bite was just fine, but the second turned bland within his mouth when the redhead continued talking. Allen was struck by a wave of discomfort at his words – clearly, he more than disliked having to take care of him, not to mention the coldness with which he spoke of corpses so nonchalantly. It was disconcerting to hear such indifference – not even indifference, really, more like _disdain_ – and he barely tasted the food as he swallowed. This stomach-churning attitude of his had to come from somewhere …

"… I'm Allen." The words sounded almost withdrawn – and they were followed by another forkful of food, a good excuse to fall silent again and mull over this new development.

* * *

Lavi noticed the tone – was he being a little _too_ unfriendly, maybe? – but it wasn't really required of him to be friendly or even civil. Technically Allen was on an enemy side in war, but he found that acting approachable made encounters easier, even if he didn't feel all that cheery.

He inwardly shrugged it off. It wasn't as though he was trying to be particularly rude, he simply didn't put much importance on putting much effort into being particularly polite either or filtering his mouth as much.

At least he had someone to talk to outside the usual lot though. His old man was stuffy and all-business, Road was completely crazy, Tyki was mostly a bore, and the Akuma were completely useless to even _try_ talking with. The rest didn't really have an interest in conversation.

"Nice t' meet ya, Allen." He paused just long enough to shovel another spoonful of food into his mouth, definitely feeling the sting of hunger now that he wasn't distracted by his studies.

"So-," he swallowed what he was eating, "-how long's the Order had you enlisted for?"

* * *

 _Nice to meet you_ , he said. It struck Allen as funny how much it seemed to him like that wasn't really the case, but he said nothing along those lines. Instead, he offered him a polite smile and an, "It's nice to meet you, too." He had manners, after all.

Even if the amount of food Lavi had gotten him was not _nearly_ enough to fill his stomach, it was a start and it was one that he needed to regain his strength and accelerate his healing process. And so he ate, trying not to do so at _too_ fast a pace so he wouldn't freak the poor guy out.

The question he was then asked left him shrugging – which caused him to wince in pain and instantly regret the motion. "Officially …? Perhaps for a month or two."

* * *

"Only two months?" That was an extremely brief amount of time, though he was sure some probably hadn't managed to last even that long. Of course given Allen's age and size, that might have still been an accomplishment, all things considered.

Really though, against a Noah like Road? He didn't stand a chance.

Lavi wasn't sure he'd say it was lucky that Allen had survived though, considering what Road probably intended for him.

"Man, you really got the short stick, huh?" _It sucks to be you_ was itching on the edge of his tongue, but he wasn't quite _that_ tactless and managed to keep it to himself. "I guess things could be worse though, ya?"

* * *

Allen almost wanted to laugh. For some reason, the fact that Lavi's view on his situation differed so greatly and yet the redhead had no qualms stating that things could be worse despite knowing so little about his life was … oddly amusing to him. Of course, things _could_ be worse – but he'd be damned if things weren't royally screwed up already. Still, that wasn't by any means for the reasons Lavi believed it to be, and that was what made it so ironic.

Of course, Allen never stopped for long enough to truly think about everything that was wrong with his life – he would have a hard time getting out of that spiral once he entered it, so he avoided it at all costs. Instead, he paused eating for long enough to say, "Life isn't ever _easy_ , but I don't intend to sit around complaining. I have made oaths I don't intend to break, so I will keep walking forward."

There seemed to be an unspoken ' _and I won't let anyone stop me_ ' lingering in the air as he resumed eating, but he didn't voice his determination in that regard. He wanted it to be true, but his confidence was wavering; a destroyer who can save is who he wants to be – but then what did it mean that the ones he was fighting were _humans_ too ..? How could it be that humans would do such a thing …? Ever since his encounter with Road, those questions had been a leaden weight in his stomach, and even now they brought a frown to linger on his lips as he brooded over it all.

* * *

"Well, yeah, no one said it was easy," Lavi shrugged. "For some, it's definitely harder than for others though. Not even born with the same basic rights really, otherwise this might actually be a perfect world after all."

Maybe he was being too cynical and melancholic. He had too much time to simply sit and think these days, maybe. A similar spiral to the one Allen avoided was more familiar to him than being free of it. It wasn't so much what was wrong with _his_ life – _what 'life' does a bookman have, anyway?_ – but more what was wrong with the entire world, with the creatures calling themselves 'human' and their ever ongoing conflicts, and that was far more impossible to fix than any personal woes.

Then there were people like this Allen guy. His determination even in the face of the more likely outcome for him was…

 _…is 'noble' the word? Maybe 'admirable'?_ All the same, very naïve. He knew that much. Maybe 'stubborn' was the other word. Naïve and stubborn were a bad combination that could only lead to one end, given the circumstances.

"Ah, well… never mind that, you like the food?" Probably overdue for a change in overall tone, his social training kicking in. Besides - he reminded himself - the kid probably didn't have long anyway, maybe a few days. That was more than most got in the crossfires of war. "I was surprised the first time, since they say you gotta taste the food to know if its any good, but these Akuma actually aren't always too bad at it."

* * *

Allen hummed quietly – there was little he could say to contradict the other's statement. There were a lot of things wrong with this world indeed … too many to really know where to start trying to make things better. So in the end, Allen saw himself as a small man, merely trying to help the ones before him – he would make a difference where he could and try to right what's within his reach. And silently, he thought to himself that if only everyone had this mindset, perhaps the wrongs of the world would be righted without a greater help being necessary.

"… it's good," he mumbled reluctantly for the sake of going along with the topic change. Although thoughts of the akuma easily dampen his mood, he had to admit that the food was decent enough. It just didn't sit well with him at all to use those tortured souls – whether it was for battle or as servants, it was cruel and inhumane, and the longer he thought about it, the more disgusted by it he felt. A small part of him remained glad still that his left eye was out of commission … he knew he would lose all his appetite if he had to see their souls as well.

He was silent for a long moment before speaking up again, a hint of dread and grief seeping into the tone of his voice. "…. how can you work beside them as if it's nothing?"

* * *

Lavi tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Why? Should I feel bad for them or something?" It wasn't as if he was ignorant to how Akuma were created, or from what. They were essentially a manifestation of a soul; of humans who had died and been brought back, when such a thing should never happen.

Even so, there was one inevitability that he saw no sense in overlooking.

"Akuma are just tools of war, like a catapult or a sword. Its no worse than any other weapon human beings have concocted throughout the ages to kill and maim each other. The only thing that's changed is the method of forging them."

As far as he saw it, Akuma were no more tragic than a corpse, or prisoners of war, and he had seen a lot of both. He knew for a fact that he had seen much more of it than Allen had, because seeing such things was his life profession since he was young. He had seen far too much of what humans could do to start grieving over it now, and the only real solace he had was being able to tell himself that he was _better_ than all that.

Even when it came to the Noah Clan, who claimed themselves to be above other humans, it was no different. They claimed they were doing "god's work" by making weapons and eradicating the lower sub-human kind that dominated the earth, but how many times had he heard something like that before? Religion was as much a weapon as any blade or gun. Physically, they were much sturdier than the average human, but in nature, they were still just the same.

And humans who fought for a "greater cause", to defend their family or whatever else, were as much fuel for the fire as those who fought for deplorable reasons. He didn't have such attachments and a need to defend anything but the records that he kept, so even then, he had no reason to fight or to kill, and that - as he saw it - made him better than those around him.

In all aspects, he was removed from war and conflict, forbidden from adding to it, and as such, superior.

"If you want to feel bad over them, then that's your choice, but honestly it just sounds like a huge waste of energy. Its like crying because someone crafted a knife and then used it to stab."

* * *

' _Should I feel bad for them or something?_ '

The blunt question left Allen staring at Lavi, lips parted slightly in disbelief. To him, even just asking this was _beyond_ insensitive – speechless, he could only stare at the redhead in an attempt to comprehend his view on the matter. Ignoring how his mind continued to chant a series of 'no's in various degrees of dismay, he waited until Lavi had finished, trying his hardest to wrap his head around how someone could possibly be that _**wrong**_.

"… you don't understand …" It was little more than a quiet whisper, filling the void where Lavi's words had now ceased to fill the silence. Distress rang clear in his voice, gloved fingers tightening just subtly around the fork in his faintly trembling hand. He knew that, logically speaking, he could not blame Lavi for not knowing what _he_ did, but that did little to lessen the shock that had settled deep in his heart. "… you don't understand … you can't just compare them to an inanimate object, because _they're_ _not_ … they're not like that …"

 _I hear them – the souls. I hear them whisper, I hear them **scream** – I hear them beg for someone to help them, **save** them from this hellish fate they're chained to – and I can see them **suffer** , doomed to **kill** when they should be resting in peace. Don't you **dare** tell me this isn't worse than a sword or a knife … you don't understand anything._

* * *

"I don't understand what, exactly? That they were once human too?"

He almost slipped to bark that becoming an Akuma was probably an improvement from "human", but he managed to hold his tongue. He wasn't looking for a fight, and for some reason, clearly it was a sensitive subject to Allen.

"I probably know a lot more about the Akuma than you do, kid. Sure, they're tragic, but death always generally is. Hasn't stopped anyone for the tens of thousands of years they've been around from making weapons to kill each other. Akuma are only the most recent variation, and its only going to get worse from here."

Really though, this kid had only been an Exorcist within the Black Order for a few months, so who was he to lecture? 'Lavi' had been watching this war for two years. He wasn't about to take lip from a kid of barely fifteen with little real world war experience.

A different kind of war, but war all the same.

He shrugged, unaffected. "That's just the way things are." _That's just the way that **people** are. _ Words that were as much a persuasion as they were reaffirmation.

* * *

Allen gritted his teeth, forcing his body to stop quivering and his anger down. It was beyond aggravating to be called a _kid_ as if he didn't know anything, when the one who had no idea what he was talking about was _Lavi_. How one could be so nonchalant and so utterly _ignorant_ in the face of this was beyond him, and it took all of Allen's willpower not to snap at him.

"They're in _pain_ ," he croaked out, somehow managing to talk around the nausea that had settled in his gut. His voice shook with a mixture of anger and dread, softened only mildly by the knowledge that Lavi couldn't know better. "The souls – they're in _agony_."

He took a deep breath to calm himself, stabbing his fork into a piece of meat with a little too much force. It was important that he made himself eat, no matter how sick he felt after this conversation; if he intended to get out of here, he had to regain his strength. Yet no matter how much he wanted to drop the conversation, he couldn't help adding in a quiet whisper, "… you don't know what it's like." _You don't know anything._

* * *

Lavi only glanced the younger male out of the corner of his eye. Exactly how would Allen know that with such conviction? More importantly, why would it matter? The exorcist said that as if humans who fought in war didn't experience suffering already, as if it was that much different.

 _You don't know what its like_. Oh, how he felt like returning those words.

The number of times he'd seen bodies piled high on a pyre or in a mass grave… The number of times he'd been grabbed and pulled into a medical tent just shy of a battlefield or some hidden ditch away from the fighting because there were too many wounded and too few hands to treat them all and the child that he was at the time didn't have the proper experience to do a damn bit of good. The number of times he'd stood at the edge of Hell watching people die and was meant to record and write down every detail as if it were a mere, distant storybook tale. The number of times he watched people grieve for themselves and grieve for others, helpless to do anything except for cry about it.

Exactly _what_ didn't he understand that this brat did?

All of it sat on the tip of his tongue, made his jaw tremble faintly with the itch to throw it in the other's face, but he didn't. He wasn't about to keep arguing with a bull-headed brick wall.

"Regardless, it doesn't matter unless you can do something about it, and even if you can, chances are it won't even be a dent in the grand scheme of things, "he huffed, setting aside what was left of his food. He didn't feel very hungry anymore anyway.

Reading though… _that_ was likely to take his thoughts off unpleasant things. That in mind, he picked up the nearest book and fell onto his side, pointedly away from Allen as he found the page he'd last left off on.

"Ideals and reality rarely align. That's simply how the real world works. You can either accept it or deny it, but it doesn't become any less true just because of how you feel about it."

* * *

Tasteless. The piece of meat he'd forced into his mouth tasted of nothing but cardboard, nausea curling within his stomach and making him wish he wasn't trying to feed himself so hard. But he needed it, he knew he did – no matter how sick he felt at the moment.

Feelings of anger, dread and disgust clouded his mind, left him with his focus narrowed down to the plate in front of him – he didn't pay any attention to the redhead beside him, didn't notice his struggle with his own thoughts and couldn't find it in him to care about what Lavi thought if it continued to remain so ignorant.

He pretended it didn't faze him that Lavi rightfully deemed his endeavour pointless.

Allen himself couldn't think of it this way – he couldn't allow himself to. Perhaps he barely made a difference in the _grand scheme of things_ , but that did not mean he didn't make a difference. He couldn't allow himself to think that way, not ever.

"It must be nice to care so little; I can't do that." He spoke quietly, not looking at Lavi nor caring what sort of impact his cutting words might have. The ones that follow are a little softer, and it's hard to tell if they are truly directed entirely at Lavi or if they serve more as a reminder for Allen himself. "I am a small man; my heart is moved by what's in front of my eyes, not by what the world needs. I just can't abandon what's there in front of me. I want to protect everything I can – maybe I can't make a difference in the bigger picture, but if I can protect just one person, I've not fought in vain."

That was all he was going to say on the matter, he decided as he took another bite of his meal, forcing himself to swallow. There was a moment of silence before he lightly asked, "… by the way, could I maybe have seconds?"

* * *

Lavi was reading, but he was still hearing the spoken words. _Must be nice to care so little._ He almost laughed. It wasn't about what was _nice_. If he tried to think of anything _nice_ about the things mankind did off the top of his head, he pulled a blank, or at worst, he instead recalled the horrifying things they were capable of. His job wasn't to care. His job was to record. Caring only tainted the lens and muddled the truth.

Must be nice not to care? _Must be nice to still be so naïve_.

How could he bring himself to care about creatures that were so pathetically, dumbly cruel to their own kind, going out of their way to kill each other for tens of thousands of years?

"Well, you heard 'im," Lavi drawled at Allen's request, his words directed at the Akuma maids. "Kid's still hungry."

The Akuma bowed and dismissed themselves, taking empty plates with them as they departed for the door. Lavi kept his focus on his book, not dignifying the other boy with his attention. He didn't foresee the conversation going much of anywhere relevant at this point anyway, and he was still feeling bristly from what words they had exchanged already.

He heard footsteps approaching again but it was too soon for it to be the Akuma returning with more food. Lavi could recognize the steps almost immediately, the same ones he'd heard just ahead of him for most of his life. He didn't even have to look up before greeting them, and seeing their stature at the edge of his vision was confirmation that he was definitely not mistaken.

"Hey, Panda- _Ow!_ "

He reeled and held his head in pain. By the time he looked up again, the old man's hands had already disappeared again in his sleeves, weathered face as stone-cold impassive and impossible to read as always.

"Did you finish writing out those reports I asked for?" Bookman rasped.

"Uh, yeah, they're just over there with the others, in the review pile," Lavi pointed, still holding his head with the other hand. For as old as he was, Bookman could still hit hard. "Finished 'em up last night."

"Good," Bookman hummed in approval, before his gaze wandered to Allen. "Do please pardon the interruption. I didn't know you had regained consciousness when I first came in. I hope that my apprentice is treating you well."

* * *

Allen relinquished his plate to the akuma with a measure of unease, still not entirely comfortable using them in such a way but hardly able to do anything about it at the time being. It seemed Lavi was quite done talking to him for now – just as well, he figured, for it didn't seem like they were going to get along. Sighing softly to himself, Allen wondered if he was doomed to run into guys who wouldn't find it within themselves to care if he caught on fire. First Kanda, now this guy – perhaps he should just stick to Lenalee.

The thought of his Chinese companion further dampened his spirits – he still didn't know if she was okay, and concern twisted painfully in his gut, the taste of bile in his mouth making him wish that the food he requested would be a while.

As if on cue, the sound of light footfalls reached his ears and he suppressed a groan, turning his head slowly (mindful of his injuries, still) to find with surprise a tiny old man approaching the couch he was occupying. Not a Noah – perhaps an akuma …? Wary but curious eyes watched as he approached, studying the man's unusual features – he had but a second to silently, begrudgingly give credit to Lavi for seeming to recognize the old man by his footsteps alone before he found himself wincing in sympathy. No akuma then, judging by Lavi's reaction. That hit ought to have hurt – he supposed, though, that Lavi deserved it for showing such disrespect. Not that 'Panda' wasn't a fitting nickname.

Meekly, Allen watched the two of them interact, feeling more than out of place – by the time the old man turned his attention towards him, the exorcist hadn't quite expected being addressed anymore and needed a moment to gather his thoughts. His apprentice, huh? Somehow, that made it easier to understand their rather curious relationship. "Er– please don't worry about it. Thank you for asking, umm …?"

* * *

Lavi continued rubbing his head, sneaking in a dirty look at Bookman while he did so. If the old man saw it - and he probably had - he said nothing, focus having entirely shifted to Allen at this point.

Fine enough. He could return back to his reading, at least for a short while, though he was still keeping one ear to Bookman and Allen.

"Call me Bookman," the elder introduced curtly, though his still-sharp eyes were scrutinizing the boy intensely. "Unless I'm mistaken, you're Allen Walker, correct? I heard about you from the two who initially brought you here. I trust that my student has already introduced himself by now."

As if to be sure, he briefly glanced at the redhead, who took his attention away from his book just long enough to glance back, then promptly went back to reading as he were ignoring the entire affair, which was still half-true.

"Excuse me for being blunt, but would you mind if I had a look at your wounds? I like to double-check Lavi's handiwork every now and again to make sure nothing was missed, especially when dealing with more severe injuries, and besides that it would be best to change the bandages for fresh ones sooner rather than later."

* * *

 _Bookman_ , huh? What an odd choice of name. Then again, Allen supposed it was none of his business really what the old man chose to call himself. "That's correct," he confirmed, respectfully inclining his head in spite of the mild discomfort caused by the movement. "And yes, he has. It's nice to meet you, Bookman."

The man's request came as a bit of a surprise simply because Allen couldn't understand why the enemy would have any interest in ensuring his health. Somehow, it made him feel uneasy … but there was no point in denying help, was there? Besides, the old man carried a calm and authoritative air about him that made it hard not to instinctively follow his request as if it was an order. He didn't seem like a man who appreciated disobedience, at any rate. "… ah, of course – go ahead if you wish."


	3. Chapter 3

**Nameless Recorders  
A D Gray-Man Fanfiction  
Original RP with bacon-of-hope(tumblr)  
**

* * *

Bookman nodded neutrally, taking up a chair at the side of the couch and indicating to Allen for a change in position as needed to check each healing wound that marred his body, inspecting them closely and humming all the while.

Most of the wounds were neatly stitched, if not a little (or more than a little) swollen. Bookman was thorough, occasionally muttering or musing something under his breath, and glancing over his shoulder at where Lavi lay splayed out on the floor.

"Did you use the carbolic acid as a disinfectant?"

"No," Lavi replied, not taking his eyes away from his reading. "I use the boric. Already used up all of the carbolic."

Bookman sighed, shaking his head slightly, muttering to himself again, this time about resupplying. "It shows."

"I did follow it up with a warm poultice of yarrow, goldenrod, garlic, and lavender oil though," Lavi added for good measure.

Bookman huffed a noise that sounded dangerously close to a scoff. "Well I should hope so. Still, you should know better than to use boric acid on open wounds like these. Next time, make sure we're properly supplied."

"Yea…" Lavi drawled, subtly rolling his one eye at the snapped words. What did it matter when the kid was only going to survive a few days anyway? Not so much because of his wounds now, but because of the Noah. If not for the practice itself of treating wounds, really it just seemed like a waste of supplies to him.

"Well, all things considered," Bookman rasped, these words directed at Allen. "Your wounds look as if they'll more than likely heal nicely, so long as they stay uninfected."

* * *

As Allen carefully complied with Bookman's instructions, he idly found himself thinking that he was being an uncharacteristically good patient. Usually he would raise hell to get away from treatment and on to the next mission as soon as possible, would loathe being cooped up to heal instead of out there fighting. He knew he was a patient of the insufferable sort – however, right now he also knew he had to bide his time. In spite of how restless he felt, how the urge to move remained as a tight knot in his chest, he would refrain from letting it show in his actions. How else was he going to find even the smallest chance to escape later on?

He listened to the exchange with mixed feelings, fleeting distrust towards the redhead's methods melting into reluctant respect when he showed to have put thought into his treatment after all. Inwardly he scolded himself – he should not have suspected the worst just because they had a disagreement.

"… thank you, Bookman, Lavi," Allen murmured quietly, uncertainty about why they were doing this still carrying over in his words. After all, he hadn't gotten the impression that Road wanted any of them to live. All at once it occurred to him that the old man had spoken to _the two who brought him here_ , and he sat up straighter reflexively, a soft pained noise escaping him at the thoughtless movement. "Ah, Bookman, did … did Road – am I the only one who was taken? Do you know what happened to my friend?"

There was more force behind the words than he wanted to give them, so he added in a softer tone, "Please, I need to know …" _Please let her be safe._

* * *

Bookman's expression was impossible to read as Allen asked the question, whether he felt sympathy for Allen's worry or anything else, whether he knew if Lenalee was alive or dead. His expression gave none of it away.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't heard anything about any others. Only you - and only because, for one reason or another, they chose not to end your life right then and there."

He could understand Allen's wariness and uncertainty at their motives, but it wouldn't be the first time that they had treated the wounds of someone on a conflicting "side". At the root of it, their allegiance was neutral, and the wounded from another side or prisoners of war sometimes held knowledge that was useful to them in one way or another.

"The fact that you're alive at all is a pretty big surprise," Lavi added in, adamantly focused back on his book rather than looking at his older mentor or Allen. "Road especially isn't known to leave survivors. In all the years I've been here, you're the first person she's spared this long. If she didn't capture this friend of yours along with you, then I wouldn't hold my breath on running into them again. The best thing at this point would be to hope she put an end to it quickly, rather than made your friend suffer."

Bookman gave him a disapproving look, but didn't openly scold the redhead for his bluntness. Tactless as the words were, Lavi had a point. The chances that anyone else survived were slim to none. Beating around the bush wouldn't change that.

"Careless as my student is with his words, he speaks the truth," Bookman sighed. "You still being alive after meeting with one of the Noah directly is a rarity. I don't know exactly what they have planned for you," though he had a pretty good idea, "but you're the only one so far lucky enough not to have been killed off straight away. For now, at least, I don't think they will bother you."

* * *

He couldn't help that his face fell at the news – he hadn't noticed the hopeful expression he had taken on until it faded into a worried frown, his one visible eye brimming with concern once again. Lavi's input helped little in the way of calming his agitation, the urge to get moving and make sure Lenalee was okay; even now there was a fire in his gaze that spoke of determination, of blatant refusal to lose hope until the very last. If anything, all this talk did was make him more desperate to get out of here and find her at the earliest opportunity.

"What's the point in keeping me alive if they aren't going to bother me?" He wasn't stupid, after all – if Road wanted to keep him alive for whatever reason, she must have plans for him; or perhaps it was the Earl who wanted something from him before ending his life – the man certainly seemed unhinged, maybe the extent of that was greater than he had originally believed. "Why would they make you tend to my wounds? If they didn't want me gone, they wouldn't have inflicted them in the first place. So why fix me up now? To do it all over again? What's the point?"

* * *

There was a moment of elongated silence, neither Bookman nor Lavi offering up an explanation at first. When he received an answer, it was Lavi who offered it.

"Like I said when you first got here before, probably because Road wants to keep you around like a plaything, or a pet. She asked me to treat your wounds and keep you alive, so I did. Simple as that."

The tone was that of someone discussing a trivial matter, even though it regarded Allen's life. Still, finding it in him to care was like growing attached to livestock scheduled for the butcher block the following week.

It was blatantly stupid to even consider it, _especially_ with someone like Road around, who could peer into the deepest recesses of a person's mind. She wouldn't be above using it as leverage to toy with him as well, which she already did on occasion using other things when she grew bored.

He didn't have any reason to regard Allen as any more special than the other tens of thousands of people he'd seen die throughout his time as Bookman's apprentice. As far as he was concerned, it was just another number to add to the total count.

"Whether or not she'll actually keep you around for very long or exactly what she'll do with you… well that's a matter for you and her to figure out together. Its not really our business, and I'm certainly not going against someone like her. That girl's scary beyond reason."

* * *

It was hard not to let it shake him, to hear someone speak of his life in such a manner, to be considered little more than a plaything to repair. All things considered, Road scared him – human as she ultimately was, her behaviour was vile to say the least, and she seemed to take a sick joy in watching the suffering of others. She wasn't the kind of person he wanted to spend more time around than absolutely necessary.

The only answer he offered Lavi for his explanations was a nod of acknowledgement. He didn't expect them to consider helping him, and no matter how much he disagreed with Lavi's opinions, he was not willing to risk their safety to acquire his freedom. "Thank you for your assessment, and for tending to my wounds. You may have been ordered to do this, but I'm still grateful for your help."

He then turned to Bookman, who seemed to be the more knowledgeable of the two when it came to medicine, and asked quietly, "Bookman … will my left eye recover?"

Allen was braced for a negative answer, of course; he could still feel his flesh throb beneath the bandages covering his left eye socket, and he didn't think he would ever forget the agonizing sensation of that razor-sharp candle digging into his eye. However, it was hard to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind, haunting him with hissing whispers – _it's not that easy to get rid of your curse, boy_.

* * *

Lavi didn't even humor him with a glance. Maybe it was just his determination to stay uninvolved beyond what was absolutely required of him. Maybe he was still a little annoyed with the earlier conversation. It was difficult to say.

Bookman hummed, doubt ringing clear in his weathered voice at the question.

"To be honest, as far as I can tell, you won't be able to see out of it again. Although its not the worst eye injury I've seen, it would have to take some sort of miracle for it to return to functioning order. I'm sorry, but there's no kind of medicine that can do anything about that."

Likely it wasn't what Allen wanted to hear, but it was the most honest assessment he could give. There was no purpose to instilling false hope.

"Still, the injury could have been a lot worse than it is, and at the very least, its been treated properly so it won't fester."

* * *

 _I don't think you're right about that._

He didn't voice his doubts, however, merely giving a grave nod in response to the old man's assessment. Bookman was without a doubt a competent man, but Allen knew he couldn't form the correct conclusion without knowing everything there was to know about the injury. Part of him wanted to explain – but there was little point, was there? He'd just have to wait and see who was right; no need starting an argument now.

"That's okay, Bookman – there's no need to apologize. Thank you." If he sounded a little too unperturbed by the news, he figured it didn't quite matter.

It was at this moment that the akuma servants returned to the room with another portion of food – in spite of his wariness when it came to them and the stab of guilt for not putting them out of their misery but allowing them to be of use to him, Allen was grateful for their appearance. He needed to regain his strength as soon as possible, after all.

* * *

Bookman merely nodded, finishing with re-wrapping the wounds before standing up stiffly as the Akuma maids returned with food. The old man wandered from the couchside towards where Lavi had pointed earlier, the group of books and papers he'd referred to as the "review pile".

Pregnant silence filled the room, with the silent Akuma standing off to the side, waiting to take the plates once Allen was finished, and both Bookman and Lavi each respectively reading their own books. The only sounds to break the silence was Allen's dishware and the frequent turning of pages, since both Bookman and Lavi could read at paces that almost seemed inhuman.

Bookman mostly scanned the contents quickly, set aside one book, and picked up another. Once he reached one of the last ones, he audibly smacked it shut and onto the table and moved onto the next one, repeating the process again with the last two books, which caused Lavi to flinch ever so slightly, peeking over the top of what he was reading.

"Don't you ever proof-read your work?" The first book came flying and he preparedly used the open one in hand as a shield. "I can't even begin to make sense of this chicken scratch you call _'writing'_! Do all of them over."

"Now?" Lavi grumbled unhappily.

"Of course _now_. And I expect them by tomorrow evening."

"All three?" the redhead whined. It wasn't impossible for him, but his wrist was going to suffer for it and he wanted to read. The look Bookman gave him said it all and he sighed in defeat.

"Yeah… okay."

* * *

The akuma swiftly approached him with the food he'd requested, and Allen murmured a thank you laced with the softest hint of guilt towards the poor souls as he accepted the plates. Sensing the conversation to be over, Allen turned most of his attention towards filling his stomach, only watching the interaction between Bookman and Lavi out of the corner of his good eye.

It seemed the atmosphere had changed by the time Bookman had reached the last book of the pile – Allen recognized the feeling of an impending storm with a measure of unease. When Bookman finally snapped and _threw_ a book, the silver-haired teen quietly winced in sympathy. He knew what it was like to be treated in such a manner by his mentor, so he couldn't help but feel bad for Lavi.

Nearly done with his meal, Allen paused to glance over at Lavi and Bookman. He realized that he had no idea what the two of them were actually doing here, tolerated by the Noahs and settled with a side they by all means should not be interested in supporting – suddenly curious, he chose to break the following silence with his inquiry, perhaps silently hoping to divert Bookman's attention from his apprentice as well.

"Er … excuse me, but may I ask what exactly it is you do?" Having garnered their attention like this, he added a tad sheepishly, "It seems rather … odd to me to find humans with the Noah family."

* * *

It wasn't really a strange question - the Noah weren't exactly known for having a high opinion of regular humans (then again, neither was he) - but all the same, Lavi tilted his head back until it almost rested between his shoulder blades, blinking.

Most of the time, when he tried to think up any other explanation to who and what they were besides how things were, he drew a blank. He knew secrecy was sort of a big deal to their Clan, but honestly, what could this battered little twerp do to threaten how they did things?

And cold as he may tend to be, he always tried to speak with at least a hint of fact backing his words. Truth was difficult enough to keep straight all the time, why make things more difficult with lying?

At worst, the kid would develop a bias, knowing that he and others were being observed and events surrounding them written down.

…but so what?

So he merely offered up a lopsided smirk, and stated things exactly as they were.

"We're record-keepers - best ones in the world," Lavi boasted, an easygoing but false smile plastered on his lips as he looked back at the white-haired youth. "Wherever there's a war or other hugely significant conflict - wherever the place, whenever the time period, and whoever we align ourselves at the time - our clan are the ones that write the books about the outcome, _especially_ the super secret ones no one else in the world knows abo- _ow!_ "

The smoldering look of disapproval from Bookman would have probably lit the redhead on fire if it were physically possible.

"Loud-mouthed fool. What have I told you about talking too freely?" The old man shook his head, walking past the couch and grumbling mostly to himself, though maybe complaining towards Allen as well. "Honestly, some days I ought to just muzzle that boy…"

"I can hear you, y'know," Lavi jibed, deliberately rolling a short distance away and out of Bookman's easy reach, laying on his stomach, already armed with a book to shield his head in case his mentor returned for Round Four (mainly because he can't help antagonizing Bookman every chance he gets). "Crusty old Panda. Not like it matters if he knows."

Road would - after all - eventually come back, and even if Allen somehow regained the strength to try and escape, he'd quickly find that the Ark didn't have an easy way out, if any at all.

* * *

 _Record-keepers_. Allen let out a thoughtful hum, mulling over that term in his head as he took another bite of his meal. It had never really occurred to him that there had to be people who recorded the happenings of the world, in spite of it being so obvious – from newspapers to history books in libraries, he knew _someone_ had to be responsible for the preservation of all this knowledge, but he couldn't remember ever sparing much thought on that. He supposed he'd lived a life so far removed from literature that that wasn't much of a surprise.

The explanation allowed him to look at the two of them in a different light, curiosity mingling with the realization that – judging by their presence here, as well – recording things firsthand meant seeking out battlefields. Upfront it sounded like a scholar's job, but in reality, it could not easily be accomplished by someone unused to war, conflict, and fighting. What secrets did they carry, he wondered, if they were capable of surviving at the frontline in spite of their nature as observers and chroniclers?

Pulled out of his thoughts by Bookman's sharp tone, Allen winced in sympathy at the death glare directed at Lavi – only to suppress a sigh as he witnessed the redhead making things worse for himself by insulting the older man. _I guess he had it coming_ , the exorcist thought to himself. _I wonder what secrets they are hiding_.

One question hadn't resolved itself though, so Allen tipped his head to the side and voiced it, keeping his voice light, innocent and curious. Most people tended to think him naive, and he liked to keep it that way if it looked like it would benefit him, so he'd rather they didn't realize the multitude of information he had drawn from their banter. "That sounds like difficult work. But … to be honest, I still don't understand why the Noah would allow you to stay?" He shrugged helplessly, debating whether or not to take on the struggle of attempting to explain why he asked.

* * *

"Because information is the most useful and deadly weapon of all," Lavi shrugged simply, not looking up and instead setting up a blank book, quill, and ink bottle to redo the work Bookman wanted him to. He'd been nodding off a few times while working on the last of his records the day before and even _he_ could barely read his own writing.

Complaints aside, he really _did_ need to redo them, not just because his old man ordered him to do it but also for the sake of pride in his work. This level of quality just _wouldn't do_ , and he really should know when to call it quits for the sake of quality control.

"We're not exactly the only humans in the world who Noah's family keep around or refer to in order to do what they need to do. There are information brokers all over the world that help the Earl directly, even people who help facilitate the creation of new Akuma. Far as I'm aware, its not even news to the Order, at least not to the people who have been around a long time."

He wondered silently if _Allen_ was aware of it though, watching for a reaction to answer that unspoken question out of the corner of his eye.

" 'sides, have you _seen_ those guys try to do anything related to books or education? I have. Half of them can't even do basic arithmetic… I'm talkin' four-plus-four here. I should know - I've had them come tryin' to manipulate me into doing their homework _for_ 'em."

Silently he wondered how much of this Road was picking up, with her being able to read minds and all that (and being the one who tried to wiggle out of homework more than anyone, though somehow Lavi doubted it was because of inability). He wasn't damning himself with saying that, right? It's not like he named _her_ specifically.

"I didn't exactly make it very short, but the short answer is, we're _useful_. Doesn't matter if its the Noah or some tiny resistance faction in a backwater country no one's ever heard of, in the end, only thing people care about is that you're a tool that'll benefit them."

* * *

A mutually beneficial pact: In exchange for knowledge, they get a front seat at recording the Holy War. Allen found himself nodding mutely at Lavi's explanation – it was true, after all; knowledge was powerful in many ways. He could accept that reasoning, even if he didn't agree with them even _indirectly_ helping a family aiming to destroy humanity. It seemed morals were not high on their list of priorities, and that realization made him feel a wave of distaste towards the Bookmen.

 _Information brokers?_ Snowy brows furrowed at the mention of them. If it wasn't for the sober way in which Lavi spoke of them, he wouldn't have taken it seriously – like this, however, he had to consider it as the truth, and that brought a frown to his face. Who in their right mind would support a cause such as the Earl's? Who's conscience could allow aiding in the death of innocents? It made no sense.

He was pulled out of dwelling on that revelation as Lavi continued on, rambling about some nonsense concerning homework – only to summarize his answer in the most unpleasant way imaginable. However, it wasn't repugnance that painted itself across Allen's features in reaction to Lavi's conclusion – it was sympathy. "… that's such a sad outlook on the world."

 _What has life done to you to make you feel_ _that way_ _about humans?_

* * *

Lavi was partly watching Allen out of the corner of his eye as he worked on correcting his notes, so he didn't miss the furrowing of brows and brief flash of disbelief on Allen's face at the mention of information brokers and those who helped with creating new Akuma, though the disbelief was quick to fade into a grim sort of acceptance that his words were at least true.

He guessed that the puzzlement which replaced his distaste was due to the fact that there were indeed humans who not only helped the Earl's scenario, but who were fully aware of what they were doing as they did so.

As for him, he hadn't been surprised at all when he first found out. War didn't really change much from one conflict to the next.

The next sorrowful look was the one and only reaction that surprised him.

Was that _pity_?

He almost wanted to laugh, turning his head only slightly to confirm for himself that he was reading the expression right. Indeed it was. This beat-up kid, who was very much a prisoner of war, was _pitying_ him for his world view. He had to bite his lower lip to fight off a smirk.

For some reason, he couldn't help finding it hilarious. Maybe because he was the one comfortable and undamaged where he was with no immediate threats to his survival, while Allen's own time was ticking down the longer he stayed here - Hell, the longer he even _existed_ as an exorcist.

 _He_ was the one who was going to survive, probably to live a long life as a successor to Bookman until he was just as aged and haggard as his own mentor, yet _he_ was on the receiving end of pity.

How backwards was _that_?

"I don't happen to think so," he mused, unable to keep somewhat of a snigger from his voice, almost somewhat of a mocking sound.

"There's nothing sad about acknowledging the ugly truth of the human condition. Pretending as if people are all wonderful and every one of 'em is somehow inherently good and worth defending and look out for each other only for being human just seems like a waste. Its that kind of thinking that gets good people killed and bad people inheriting power over the world, and its why the Earl is probably going to win this war."

* * *

It did not surprise him that Lavi could not understand his point of view. Throughout this conversation it had become rather obvious that the redhead was unable to comprehend his thought process, not to mention that his morals were rather far from Allen's own. No matter how much he wanted to shake him out of this dreary outlook on life, he could tell it was a battle lost for now – and so he sighed softly and decided to let it go.

"I suppose there is no point in trying to change your mind on that – but perhaps I'll get the chance to prove you wrong one day." A sentence rich on implications – implications he was by now certain would be picked up by the bookman in training. That said, the young exorcist returned to his meal, determined to replenish his energy; he knew he was going to need it.

Soon after, he finished with his meal, handing the empty plate to the waiting akuma. With his stomach soothed for the time being, drowsiness began to seep back into his aching bones; a yawn escaped him, leaving him to wince as muscles shifted and stretched, aggravating wounds in numerous areas. Perhaps it would be a good idea to rest while he still could.

* * *

Lavi hummed distractedly, focusing more on his writing at this point than he was on the conversation, hand deftly scribbling down copied lines one after the other.

"You can keep telling yourself that," Lavi replied with a humoring lilt to his tone, like he thought he was entertaining the delusions of an ignorant child. As far as he was concerned, he was. "But its never going to happen."

Really, he thought it laughable that Allen seemed convinced he could sway Lavi's opinion.

 _Not after what these eyes have seen._

He almost wanted to toss those words back. How stubbornly would Allen hold onto his own ideals of what the realities were if he were witness to the same things Lavi had been? It was a curiosity - purely of the clinical sort, naturally - that tugged at the back of his conscience. He didn't imagine Allen would walk away from it unscathed.

But it was a moot point. It was only a matter of time before the kid ended up meeting his end, most likely by Road's hand if not by one of the other Noah.

* * *

There was no point in arguing any further, Allen decided. He was tired. Tired of this conversation, coupled with the bone-deep weariness of battles fought and lost weighing down on him. What was the point in arguing with this stubborn redhead when he clearly wasn't going to believe anything Allen said until proven wrong? And he _would_ prove him wrong, he resolved – if only for the sake of getting him off his high horse. It ticked him off to be treated like an ignorant child.

"You can keep telling yourself that," he returned with a sweet smile, holding it for a moment before turning his head away and heaving a quiet sigh. Shifting with a considerable amount of discomfort, he slid down further on the couch and closed his eyes – better get some rest in while he could, after all. It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, but Allen had had much, _much_ worse, so he really had no complaints … he could only hope that he would recover quickly enough to be able to make a run for it before he ran into Road once again.


End file.
